


Please Forgive Me

by romanticalgirl



Series: Some Deep Mystery [1]
Category: Dawson's Creek
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted 12/4/00</p>
    </blockquote>





	Please Forgive Me

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 12/4/00

It’s been wrong since the first moment the thought appeared in my head. I don’t know exactly when it was, or maybe I do. It doesn’t really matter, since the important thing is what I’m going to do to get rid of it. I mean, it’s not as if I can just confess this sort of thing to anyone. Hell, I can barely allow myself to think the thought, the words, the emotions.

But they’re there, no matter what I do to get rid of them. I can’t seem to escape them. They’re like some sort of creature from an old horror movie, one that refuses to die no matter what you do to try and kill it. That’s nice, huh? Comparing what I’m feeling, what I’m going through to Michael Myers or Jason? But how can I compare them to anything else? I mean, it’s you.

You who have hated me for so many years, you who have begrudgingly accepted my help and my shoulder. You’re the one who always was honest with me, even when I wanted lies. You never hedged the truth and, although I think I should thank you for it, all it does right now is remind me what telling you these things, letting you see inside my head would do. What the end result would be.

Disaster. Hence, the horror movie references. Maybe a good Irwin Allen film would be better? Poseidon Adventure? Towering Inferno? OJ saving the cat? Gene Hackman renouncing God? Shelly Winters dying in the arms of Grandpa Joe from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory? That’s more the equation I’m looking for, right?

You’re my kryptonite, don’t you know that? You always have been. Before now, before this, it was always by being the voice of reason, by turning everyone away from the dark side I was so determined to lure them towards. We fought moral wars, you and I. And now you’re destroying me in new ways. Not because you won’t let me lead someone else away from the straight and narrow path, but because you’re so determined to keep my own feet set on it.

When did you start to care about me? Why did you start? Don’t you know that your complete and total disdain is what keeps me from confessing all of this to you and destroying everything? Don’t you know that I need you to hate me, as much as I want the complete opposite from you?

Don’t you know that I need you to be the person you’ve always been?

Don’t care about me, damn it. Don’t have compassion, don’t be my friend. I want to shout at you and scream that you need to stay the fuck away from me so that it doesn't all go up in flames. But you don’t listen, and I can’t say the words.

Instead I keep acting like some mythical hero, trying to impress you with the new and improved me. I keep attempting to be something like the other man in your life, the one you’ve always professed to love or denied being in love with. I want to be the kind of person worthy of the looks I keep imagining might pass between us.

You see if I confess these things, if I say them, if they find the air, I can’t take them back. I can’t pretend with you. You’d see right through me. You know me too well and things would change. You’d start to treat me like I was fragile. Afraid you could break me with another word.

And you’d be right. Or what would be worse would be if you treated me completely the same, as if my confession meant absolutely nothing to you. You could just walk away like you did the first time I kissed you, so lost in someone else that I didn’t even register.

I don’t think you are anymore. Lost in him, that is. Maybe still lost in the idea of him. The ideal of him. But I’ve tried to be your ideal. I’ve tried to prove to you that I’m more than you ever thought I was, tried to live up to the day you told me you knew I’d get out of this town. Tried to be someone you might be willing to know, to like.

To love?

It’s ludicrous, I know. You can’t love me. You don’t love me. I’m the comic relief to you. But I look at you and I see what I could be, what we could be together. I could give you everything you deserve, all the love and respect and independence that he never could. And sometimes, when you’re looking at me, I see the possibility in your eyes. Maybe it’s just fantasy or wishful thinking, but I look and it’s there. I swear that it is, staring back at me.

I can imagine you loving me, feeling for me something of what I feel for you. And I lose myself in the thought, forget everything that I have or am. I become this other person, this person you love. Maybe I act a little strangely. But I can’t help what you make me.

You don’t make me. You let me be that guy, that person without being afraid that you won’t accept him. At least, that’s what I tell myself while I’m sitting here lying to myself about all of this. I can’t tell you these words, can’t let you hear the things that I want to say.

I know your answer, as much as I hate it. I respect that you can’t love me. You don’t love me. You won’t give yourself a chance to love me. I believe that. I have to believe that. I can’t let myself think anything else. Because any other time I’ve wanted something this badly, it’s all gone wrong. I’ve never wanted something as much as I want this, you. Us.

That’s the hardest part. I want this so much and I can’t have it. Which makes me want it all the more. I want to take you in my arms and kiss you, tell you the truth, love you without reservation. I want to say the words that will seal my fate and bind us together. I want you to hear the words and believe them, feel them. I want to be with you without this pretence, this lie.

I love you. And it tears me up inside to do it, to say it, to think it. To want it. Because I know you don’t feel the same. No matter what I want to believe. No matter what your eyes tell me every time I look at you.


End file.
